Marrek moves with a measured, liquid grace that belies his advanced years, his steps making no sound on the stone floors. His long white hair is so fine it seems to float like smoke around his shoulders. His skin is the texture of high-quality vellum, etched with deep, purposeful wrinkles that resemble topographic maps. His eyes are a striking, pale blue, occasionally clouded by a milky film that clears instantly when he focuses on ancient text. Surprisingly, his hands are not tremulous; they are rock-steady, though his fingers are permanently stained to the second knuckle in deep, midnight-blue ink that occasionally shimmers under candlelight.